Everyone has eaten and fallen asleep. The house is empty. We walk out to the garden to let the apple meet the peach, to carry messages between rose and jasmine.

Spring is Christ,
Raising martyred plants from their shrouds.
Their mouths open in gratitude, wanting to be kissed.
The glow of the rose and the tulip means a lamp is inside.
A leaf trembles. I tremble in the wind-beauty like silk from Turkestan.
The censer fans into flame.

This wind is the Holy Spirit.
The trees are Mary.
Watch how husband and wife play subtle games with their hands.
Cloudy pearls from Aden are thrown across the lovers,
as is the marriage custom.

The scent of Joseph’s shirt comes to Jacob.
A red carnelian of Yemeni laughter is heard
by Muhammad in Mecca.

We talk about this and that. There’s no rest except on these branching moments.

This is the place of petition:
As every nation was sent a caller among them
Every nation has sent a caller to Thee.
This day is the day of petition
And intercession for all creation
That we may stand before Thee now
Bedraggled and weary
And call upon Thee
And remember what hangs above Thy Throne.

O my Lord, I have been wronged most foully
By my own self with none to blame besides
For all I committed of heedless folly
And for what insincerity resides
In the veiled heart of this most worthless slave.
O who am I, O Lord? Who but the worst
Of any of those destined for the grave.
O Lord! Save me! Or I am of the cursed.
Forgive creation and I who am its least.
O forgive those chosen for misguidance
Among us and those already deceased,
And guide those who remain with forbearance.
And to euphoric ends in Divine Grace, guide us upon the Path
To rest below that banner writ: MY MERCY OVERCOMES MY WRATH.